Three long weeks on a rocking ship, most of it spent clutching the edge of it, desperately trying to breathe in fresh air as to not become violently ill, and sometimes not succeeding and emptying her stomach overboard. When the weather would not permit this, it was spent in her bed with her knees curled into her stomach and her eyes squeezed shut, trying desperately to think of dry, level ground. Of course she'd been at sea before. But it was on the smallest of sailboats, in the English Channel, off the coast of Perros-Guirec, for only a few hours at a time, with stops to jump in and swim. It was Raoul's sailboat.

It was hard to decipher what was more sickening. The literal tossing and churning of the boat (and consequently her stomach), or the churning of her torn heart. His terribly pained face was forever burned into her memory. Every time she closed her eyes she saw his boyish face age ten years, the light leave his eyes. It kept her up at night, it sent her to the edge of the ship to empty her stomach. It was not always the seasickness.

But every time she doubted herself, she reminded herself why she made this decision in the first place. A fresh start for her own sanity. She surely would have gone mad if she stayed in Paris. And she could not return to Perros. The part of her that once lived there, the youthful, hopeful child was gone, and returning would be too painful. She could have returned to Sweden, but people knew her name there. She was their star, their hometown hero. The Soprano of the Century...

No, she had to leave Europe. She needed to be her own person. Not the Soprano of the Century, not the Opera Ghost's mistress, not the Vicomte de Chagny's mistress. Just...Christine.

Christine was never any of those things. There were grander sopranos than her by far, and she was never, never anyone's mistress. Her relationship to the men in her life was misunderstood by quite literally everyone. Did she love them? Of course. But in what sense she was not quite sure. She knew she felt distinct pain in her heart as she left them both behind for the last time. She could still hear Erik's dreadful sobs, she could still see Raoul's pained face, struggling to maintain himself. Oh, that poor boy. She never wanted to hurt him...she never wanted to hurt either of them. But that was all she did. She caused both of them more pain than she could imagine. And she hated herself for it.

Erik had let her go, and Raoul had begged her to stay.

"I know you love your boy..." Erik had said to her. And with a kiss to his forehead and a promise to bury him someday, she left.

"Please, Christine...I love you...more than life itself..." Raoul had said to her, begged her. Implored her.

"I know," she'd said bravely. "And I am so, so sorry. I just...cannot be what you need me to be. I shall always love my boy." And with a kiss to his forehead and a promise to never forget him, she left.

She meant every word, and she kept her word.

Christine did not leave Paris until his obituary appeared in the paper. It was only a few short months after she'd left him. In that time she'd told Raoul that she needed space, she needed time. And he was so very good to her. He left her alone all that while. She kept her word to Erik when the time was right, and by that time she'd already made up her mind. She packed whatever she could carry and withdrew her money from the bank, all her own savings from pay at the Opera. She bought her ticket for the ship. Then, and only then did she bring herself to face Raoul. She was afraid that if she appeared to him without having already fully prepared for her departure, she would lose her nerve and change her mind. When she appeared on his doorstep, he was overjoyed. The poor boy had probably thought she was finally ready to resume their courtship, their engagement.

Christine kept her word. She buried Erik, and she never forgot Raoul. She never would. How could she? She may have returned the engagement ring, and the necklaces and baubles he'd bought her as gifts (that she'd had to hide from Erik's sight), and the roses and lilies faded with time. But she still had that ratty, unraveling scrap of red fabric. She ran her fingers across it nearly every day. Sometimes she pressed it to her face and cried. It was like mourning the loss of her boy.

In her mind there were three Raouls. There was the Raoul that rescued her scarf and took her sailing, that brought her seashells and bowed to her father: her boy. And then there was the Raoul that brought roses to her dressing room, bowed to her and kissed her hand, covered her lips with his, and, admittedly once or twice, covered her neck with feverish kisses. The Raoul that got down on one knee and swung her about when she'd said yes, the Raoul that let his hands wander as he kissed her. The Raoul that was a man in body, and a boy in sprit. And then there was the Raoul that flinched when she opened the door too abruptly, the Raoul with sunken eyes and pale skin, the Raoul that held her much too tightly, like she would vanish any second, the Raoul that cried for his lost brother. This Raoul was a broken shell of a man that was forced to bury the boy far, far away where he could never be reached again. This was the Raoul that Christine had created. She'd dragged him into her own nightmare, and she was a fool to think he'd come out unscathed. That was why she had to leave. His brokenness was too horrible of a reminder of what she'd done to him...a reminder of the boy she'd killed.

The ratty scarf was all she had left of her boy. She wanted nothing more than to forget the broken Raoul, the Raoul that existed because of her destruction. She promised to always love and remember her boy, and that she would.

She carefully tucked the scarf into her suitcase and closed it; she must prepare to leave the ship. For after three long weeks on a rocking ship, they'd arrived at their destination and were about to dock the ship at Castle Garden. They'd arrived in America.

I've been toying with this concept for a while, and it's finally come to fruition. I was tired of Erik-centered stories, or stories that just generally ignored how Christine feels in every sense of the word, so I've literally removed her from everything she (and we as phans!) was familiar with, so all that's left are her thoughts and personal wishes. I hope people don't just discontinue reading this because Erik isn't in it that much...believe me...it's happened to me before.

There will be many OC's (obviously, she's in a different country), but don't worry, Raoul and Erik haven't disappeared...there is still much to happen!

This will probably be around 20 chapters, but I'm not entirely sure; it's not completely finished yet. Keep in mind I am a busy college student, but I promise I will work on it and update it as much as I possibly can.

Thanks so much for reading! Please leave a review if you enjoyed!